


Clymene

by Noscere



Series: Titans (RWBY) [7]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Displacement, F/M, Healing, Possible PTSD?, Refugees, imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noscere/pseuds/Noscere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team JNPR has relocated to the Astraea Refugee Camp to help with the relief effort. Everything is fine.</p><p>Or at least, that's what they tell themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glued Together

**Author's Note:**

> Titaness of fame, reknown and infamy. Mother of Promethus and Atlas, wife to Iapetus.

Whether it be a new shipment of Valean citizens fleeing their homes or the blaring of sirens when a Nevermore takes interest in the misery broiling below, a former Beacon student is always busy at the Astraea Refugee Camp. Cast aloft on the shores of Vytal's coastline, the displaced citizens have built a new life in a tent city, as they await the other kingdoms' aid and/or censure. Beacon's students serve as healers, huntsmen and soldiers when required.

 

Sometimes, Jaune luxuriates in the organization of nice, neat blocks of scheduled time.

At 0700, Jaune wakes up in a tangle of bodies. He breathes, quick and harsh, the pressure caving his chest in as if he’s still in his crumpling armor–

Like every time, it’s the sound of Ren snuffling into his pillow and Nora’s snoring that snap him out of it.

Jaune feels around. His team is still tangled around him – Nora, legs missing, but hips still glued to Ren’s side; Ren, one arm gone, the other thrown over Jaune’s shoulders; Pyrrha, at Jaune’s back, her arms a death grip around his chest. They huddle together, and pretend they are whole.

For a moment, he thinks of staying in her arms. Like this, it’s easy to forget that Beacon lies in ashes and Ren and Nora are permanently changed. In the muddiness between wakefulness and sleep, he sees Beacon’s shining towers standing proud. He can be a student who worries about being expelled from his dream school, not a soldier thrust into a war he never wanted.

Nora’s hand flops against his chest. He remembers that world is gone.

_I’m their leader. I need to act like one._

Pyrrha mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, _Amber_.

Something hot and wet splashes onto his neck. He thinks it rolls down his back. Jaune wouldn’t know. The nerves there are fried.

Jaune pushes back the wave of nausea and the flashes of Cardin melting into black slag and Pyrrha’s hands burning his skin – fire, fire, why is it always fire that chooses to claim him and send him to disaster?

His partner rests her head against the crook of his shoulders, lips quivering in shaky breaths. He doesn’t know how Pyrrha survives this way: when she goes out into the refugee camp, she is smiles and the warm breath of summer in the chill of autumn. She never cries until team JNPR is in the dark warmth of their tarp and PVC piping tent.

He moves his hand, beneath the scratchy emergency blankets and Ren’s outstretched arm, to grip her hip.

_I need to be strong. I can’t screw this up. Do it for your team, Jaune. Do it for your partner._

He gently extricates himself from Pyrrha’s arms, and the day begins.

 

0730: breakfast served for Block A at the canteen. Nora hops onto Ren’s shoulders to get to the canteen. Pyrrha walks on his left side, Jaune on his right, both ready to catch their teammate should she fall.

Nora’s smile is dimmer these days. Ren sways from side to side when he feels Nora wobble and he reaches for her with an arm that does not exist. Pyrrha looks down, shoulders slack with the weight of the world upon them. And he, Jaune – he does not see the change, but he can feel it in the stiffness of his shoulders and the memory of fire and tearing flesh lurking in his brain.

Pyrrha lags behind Ren to tap Jaune's shoulder. "Still there, partner?"

"Yeah," he replies. "I'm glad you're here."

She nods, and holds out her hand. He winds his fingers into the soft leather of her gloves.

Team JNPR sticks together, while they can.

 

0800: JNPR splits up. Nora and Ren are carted away to the South Field medical tents to start physiotherapy. Jaune walks Pyrrha down to the airfield, where a Bulkhead awaits.

“You know I’d stay with you if I could.” Pyrrha grips his hands. “It’s not good bye,” she says, as much for herself as him. “I promise.”

Jaune takes a deep breath, and draws his head up. He kisses her - soft and brief, she tastes of Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes and sour yogurt.

“Kick some sense into those politicians, Pyrrha.”

She musters a smile, and kisses him on the cheek. “Don’t give me ideas, Jaune.”

"As your leader… yeah, no, I shouldn't get you arrested."

"Thanks for the confidence, Jaune."

His partner steps into the depths of the Bulkhead. It takes off, the exhaust ruffling his hair. Hard to believe it was only a month ago that he was fleeing Grimm with Pyrrha on his back.

Pyrrha is headed towards Vale - the continent, not the city that shared the same fate as Mountain Glenn – to garner political support for the refugees. The politicians are in an uproar, pointing fingers at everyone from General Ironwood to Professor Ozpin to Pyrrha herself. In their anger, the displaced citizens of Vale have lost their voice. As the Invincible Girl - the one with the small smile and blood-red locks, the one who strode into the storm of Grimm to buy time for her fellow students, the one with autumn in her veins - there is no one better to plead Astraea Refugee Camp's case.

In the time until she returns, Jaune trains with his weapons at the South fields.

 _I have to be better_ , he thinks as he draws Crocea Mors and faces off against the wooden dummy. He sees his partner in its straw-stuffed place, with Milo at the ready. The memory of Pyrrha’s half-smile pulses through his veins. _I have to do this for her._

 

1200: He can’t deny the relief when Pyrrha comes rushing down the ramp and leaps into his arms. He plies her with kisses and emotions he does not feel, because the knowledge that his partner still lives is greater than the fear swimming through his veins.

 _She could kill you_ , his subconscious murmurs as the duo walk to the medical tents. _She almost did. You know how the stories end, for goddesses and the heroes they love._

Team JNPR regroups at the canteen to eat. Team RWBY is not at this camp, not when Ruby required emergency surgery and Blake is under constant attack by mysterious assailants. Jaune sometimes looks up from his plates of brown mush, expecting to see Yang’s bright smile as she tries to catch the grapes Nora would throw and Weiss rolling her eyes.

 _Can’t stay in the past_ , he chants, as Pyrrha places a hand on his elbow, _gotta keep moving, gotta keep running_.  
 

 

1300: After lunch, team JNPR does rounds with the refugees. Combat ready Huntsmen and Huntresses leave the camp to patrol its borders or rout Grimm from Beacon, whereas med-leave ones mingle with the refugees and help keep the camp running. It helps the citizens to know that their Hunters – broken and battered, but not defeated – are still there for them.

(Jaune’s tactical side reminds him of the true purpose. Bringing out Huntsmen and Huntresses – especially Pyrrha, the refugees flock to her because they see her strength and call her _Goddess_ in addition to _the Invincible Girl_ – quells panic and despair. Hope keeps the Grimm away, even if it is only a temporary reprieve, as humanity’s protectors succumb to injury and the endless darkness they fight.)

 

1900: dinner time. The day's events sit heavy on their shoulders.

Ren, of all people, does his best to break the silence. Typically, it's by insulting the food. Today, he wishes that the chefs would give him flour.

"I could make the world's blandest pancakes," he says, stabbing his bread with a knife. Jaune grabs the end and holds it in place long enough for Ren to cut it in half. "And it would still taste better than this muck. Healthier, too."

Nora boops him on the nose. "We all know your cooking's better, Renny."

He ruffles her hair. "You didn't say that about my smoothies."

"They're the exception."

Pyrrha links her fingers with Jaune's own as they watch Ren and Nora bicker.

"Open wide," she says, waving a fork laden with overcooked omelet before his mouth. 

He returns the gesture with a spoon of pea-green soup. She giggles, and licks it clean.

For a moment, the heaviness on his shoulders lifts.

 

2000: combat training, this time with JNPR as a unit. He sees the flames flickering on Pyrrha’s form, as she leaps forward with Milo held aloft, and tries not to throw up on the beaten grass.

 

2200: Quick shower in the designated hygiene area, then everyone collapses into bed. Nora lies on the outskirts, Magnhild by her side in case the Grimm attack from her side of the tent. Ren is next to flop onto the pile of blankets, and Jaune quickly follows. Pyrrha settles down by the tent’s mouth, ready to spring out with Milo in hand.

 

* * *

  

And then there are days when that schedule dissolves into utter chaos. Politicians who argue long into the evening and sling insults at Pyrrha ( _what good is a Huntress who can’t protect her own? Why should we trust you to protect our people? How do we know those supplies won't be used to rebuild Beacon instead of helping our own?)_ , swarms of Grimm descending on the medical sector to feast on the decay within, weary days when Ren has kept them up with his thrashing nightmares or nights when Jaune can’t sleep because all he sees is flame.

JNPR pretends that it is not broken, because there is no time for Huntsmen and Huntresses to heal.

 


	2. Two to Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaune and Pyrrha talk. It's not a counseling session, but they'll take what they can get.

Today follows the metered paces of Jaune’s schedule. It is 1500, and Jaune is sitting with the orphans of the attack outside of the communal sleeping tents.

“I hope mom finds me,” Sardonia says as he fastens her purple-black plait with a rubber band. The thirteen-year old tosses her head, undoing the ends of the braid. “She told me, you know? _Get out of here, save yourself…_ I know it… it might not happen, but I can hope.”

“A new airship’s flying in today.” Jaune untangles the rubber band from her hair and tries again. “She could be on it,” he says with hope he does not feel.

Sardonia huffs, but her gaze drops to the ground. “She better be.”

“–a champion! You were supposed to–“

Pyrrha’s voice floats over the bustle of the camp, unusually curt.

“I’m sorry, but I need to be somewhere.”

Jaune scans the smattering of tents around him. 

“You have to be somewhere?” Sardonia asks.

“I don’t know yet. But if I do, I promise I’ll be back to finish your hair.”

“Come back here!” The voice is louder and grief-torn. “You ran from Beacon, you ran from your classmates, but you will not–“

“I’m sorry. I have duties in this camp.”

Jaune winces. He can hear the iron grating in Pyrrha’s voice. 

“Yeah… looks like I gotta go keep the peace, Sardonia. See you around?” He holds out a fist, and she bumps it.

“Break a leg!” Sardonia calls after him as he dashes off.

 

Pyrrha is burning.

Heat shimmers off her body, in thick angry waves that threaten to peel the skin off his face. He doesn’t know how the woman in front of her doesn’t see the danger coiling before her, a beartrap ready to slam shut.

“-champion,” the woman spits, the word thorny on her tongue, “you’d be better off lying in the same grave – they never found her body, and yet here you–“

Pyrrha’s eyes turn into pools of molten gold. Jaune briefly thinks of the ancients’ punishments: for blasphemy, priests would pour bubbling gold into the mouths of heretics.

“How _dare_ you.”

Flames begins to leak from Pyrrha’s eyes.

Jaune grabs his partner’s arm. “Sorry, ma’am,” he says as the skin of his fingers blisters. He begins to drag Pyrrha into the depth of the maze. “Huntsman business. Very important. We’ll get back to you later!”

“Jaune, let go. Now.”

Pyrrha struggles against his grip, but it is half-hearted, as if she is aware that he is already broken. Jaune carries them deep into the refugee camp, until they’re boxed in by the city of tents, before he replies.

“Let’s talk,” he says, motioning at JNPR’s tent. 

 

* * *

 

 

Once inside, Pyrrha kicks off her high heeled boots and collapses on the bedrolls. Jaune plops down beside her, watching as she twists and turns and the fire recedes from her body. His arm is singed and the emptiness of non-feeling presses on his back. Still, he waits. Jaune Arc is not a patient boy, but he can do this for her.

“Better?” he asks once her eyes are emerald-green once more.

Pyrrha dips her head. “Thank you, Jaune,” she says softly. “I don’t know what I would have done if….”

“What are partners for?"

"Keeping each other out of jail, apparently." She offers him a fragile smile. "I'm sorry. I think my distress summoned Amber… Amber doesn’t like being criticized."

"Do any of us?”

“Well… this feels different. It's not just an attack on my abilities, it's an attack on who I am. I don’t want to be a fraud.” Pyrrha blows out a breath and braces herself against the bedroll. “I’ve worked hard to become who I am, and I’ve worked hard to prove that I earned it. Amber… I think she feels the same. But… people like that woman, all they see is that I live and their loved ones are dead.”

He offers her his hand. “It’s not your fault, partner.”

“They make it seem like dying is hard, and that it’s so easy to live.” Pyrrha rubs her temples. “They act like I wouldn’t have thrown myself in front of anyone to save their lives.” 

Jaune stays silent.

“They act like it is noble to die, and cowardly to live, and no matter what I do or try I can’t convince them otherwise!” She slams a fist into the tangle of blankets. “They act like I should suffer – that I should die, because I am a champion, and I have nothing more to give other than my death.” Pyrrha draws a shaky breath. “I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to live, because living is hard but I want to change the world with the people I love.”

Pyrrha runs a slender finger over her golden vambraces.

“People have… weird opinions, I think, about champions.” Her nail drags over the dents and scratches left by Beowolf claws. “On one hand, they honor us and love us… they call us gods and goddesses in mortal flesh, and I can understand that. We slaughter the darkness that would consume any other soul.” Her face darkens. “On the other hand, they think us stagnant. As if becoming a champion leaves us no other road but that which leads straight to death.”

She lets out a long breath.

“I’m not afraid to die, Jaune. This is the path of every Huntress in history. What… what I do fear is wasting my life. I might die, but I don’t want that death to be in vain.”

 

“Then… don’t die. I mean… I know I’d like you to live.”

Pyrrha stares at him, green eyes almost cat-like in the muted gloom of the tent. “ _Of course you can. The Pyrrha Nikos I know would never back down from a challenge. And if you really believe it's your destiny to save the world... you can't let anything stand in your way."_

Jaune winces. “Pyrrha, if I had known what you were going through, I would _never_ have said that.”

“But you did.” She swallows. “And I… I became the vessel for the Maiden. Because you told me to let nothing stand in my way. I… I left behind how I felt for you, and how much I wanted to live, and I stepped into the transfer pod.”

Jaune puts an arm around her shoulders. He chalks it up as a victory that she does not flinch away, and that he does not smell burning flesh and twisted metal and the beginnings of a flashback.

“I don’t want to throw away my life. I’m not a martyr.” She clenches her fist. “I believe – I know I can do better by living. Is it too late to have what I want?”

“Honestly… Pyrrha, isn’t that obvious?” he asks. “There are so many people who love you and depend on you. Your family–“ Pyrrha muffles a sob in her pillow. “I-I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”

“No… no, you didn’t.” Pyrrha sits up and drapes his arm around her shoulders. “I… It’s complicated.”

He contemplates his partner for a moment. The fear still lingers in his belly, the scars on his back still fresh, but Jaune knows he must do something. He can’t leave his friend behind.

“How about this. A secret for a secret. You tell me what’s bother you, and I’ll tell you something that’s bothering me?”

Tears roll down Pyrrha’s cheeks.

“It’s petty.”

He shrugged. “You’re talking to a guy who acted all macho, and only succeeded in getting his butt kicked many times.”

 

“Am I being selfish?” she asks quietly, casting her eyes towards the emergency blankets scattered onto the tent floor. “I always thought my destiny was to become a Huntress. Protect the innocent, the weak, the broken… Back at Beacon, I had the chance. Maybe… maybe if I had sacrificed myself, more would have lived.” Pyrrha’s nails carve red crescents into her arms. “But I… I don’t want to die. I want to love. I want to have a child, I want him to have your eyes and my hair, and I want to grow old with you. Is it selfish to trade my life for theirs?”

His mind clings onto one part of her tirade.

“You… want to have kids?”

“I’m sorry.” Pyrrha curls in on herself like a wilting leaf. “That… that is far too much–“

“Maybe not now, partner, but who knows?” His hand drops into his lap. “If we survive this… and we work out…”

She runs a hand along her forehead. Her coronet is gone, but her fingers float over the area it should occupy. “I know it’s a lot of maybes.”

“I just know we’re definitely not having eight kids.”

She chuckles. “I don’t think I could handle that many.”

“Trust me, I’m not ready for eight either.” He runs his hands through her scarlet locks. Their color is duller, as if the fight sapped some life from them. “But… no, I don’t think that’s selfish. Professor Oobleck can talk all he wants about _giving up your life if you want to serve the people_ , but that sounds… well, a load of bull. You can’t expect people to give up all of their desires, even if they’re chasing after their biggest dream.”

She blows out a breath. “That’s not what a hero should do, is it.”

“I don’t know, to be honest.”

Pyrrha leans against Jaune. Her hand seeks his own. Her fire is subdued now, a ruby warmth that pulses from her heart into Jaune’s skin. He takes a deep breath – below the scent of harsh soap and antiseptic, there is something uniquely Pyrrha. The air tastes of sea-brushed sands and iron filings. It’s… an interesting smell, but it suits her. She is tide-torn and windswept, drawn from familiar shores to some mysterious fate that he can hardly understand.

“Are we heroes because of the things we do?” she asked, tracing circles around her bare ankle. He briefly remembers a golden bracelet tearing into flesh. “Or are we heroes because others think we are?”

Jaune sighed. Great. It is his time to show and tell.

 

“What’s wrong? Is it your back?” she asked, hands immediately going to his back. She begins rubbing – although he cannot feel it, he appreciates the effort.

“Heroes, huh." 

She can probably hear the self-loathing dripping from his voice. “If it counts for anything, I think you’re a hero.”

“Pyrrha, I’m a fraud. I didn’t get into Beacon because I was smart, or talented, or good at fighting.” He rubs his temples. “Honestly? I got in because I’m good with computers. You wouldn’t believe how bad the CCT security is.”

“Considering Cinder hacked it, I think I could believe you.”

“I’m the weakest link.” Jaune picks at his new black sweatshirt. The old one had to be thrown out, along with the twisted wreck of his armor. “If I go down, I’ll drag you guys with me. And for some reason, Ozpin chose me to be the leader.”

“I’m sure he saw something great in you." 

“Awesome. I sure hope I find it before I get you guys killed,” he says with a harsh laugh.

“You saved me,” she says, sincerity brimming over in her eyes. “Jaune, if it weren’t for you, I would have died at Beacon, and Cinder… that woman would have gotten my powers.” 

Jaune shakes his head, and lets it drop. He’s not in the mood for this conversation.

“So… they really are transferred by the previous wielder snuffing it?”

“The rules weren’t quite explained to me.” Pyrrha looks down. “But yes, that seems to be the gist of this.”

He blows out a breath. “Great. Something else to worry about. Crazy lady murdering you for your powers.”

Pyrrha looks away. “I’m… I’m sorry. That… is the reason why we are here,” she gestures at the tent walls, “and not, say, dispersed to our parents. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says reflexively. “Ren and Nora only have us, now that Beacon’s gone. We’re team JNPR. We stick together.”

“Our own little family.” A small smile creeps up her face. “Well, it’s not the one I imagined I’d have… but I like it.”

 

Some weight presses on his shoulders. “It’s better than being alone.”

“Jaune?” Her voice is harsh in his ears, grating across the thin membrane of his tympanum. “Jaune, what’s wrong?”

“D-don’t–“ He tries to speak, but his chest is seizing up and his heart is oscillating like a guitar string within its confines. “-go, i-it’s–“

“Jaune? I’m going to… I’m going to get a medic.”

He grabs her hand. It burns under his touch. “No! Nee- need a sec.”

He bites back the scream building in his throat, he has nothing to scream about – squeezes his eyes tight as if that could still his hummingbird heart – a phantom pain spreads up his toes, as if flames were licking his flesh – and instead of Pyrrha, he sees a wraith made of flame, ready to burn him to the bone.

“Jaune! Jaune! I’m going–“

“D-don’t–“ He curls up into a little ball. “–fine–“

“Don’t be a heroic idiot!”

The wraith stands abruptly, stamping on Jaune’s hand in her haste. The pain douses the vision. He breathes – in, out, in, out – gasping for air like a drowning man. Pyrrha grabs the medkit from a corner of the tent. She gets out a crystal of Ice Dust and presses it into his hands. The cold shocks him out. He’s acutely aware that he’s curled in the fetal position at Pyrrha’s feet.

 

“I’m going to get a medic,” Pyrrha slips on a boot, “just wait–“

“Pyrrha. No. It’s… It’s really not necessary.”

She gives him a look.

Jaune slowly sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “I dream of fire,” he admits, “and sometimes, I burn to death. The visions are bad. Usually, I can get them under control, but today…”

His partner slowly sinks beside him. “Jaune… It’s… it’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“I guess I am a little scared of you, partner.” He digs his nails into the skin of his back. Although his fingers come away bloody, he feels nothing but a slow ache. “I… No. I’m not scared of you, Pyrrha. I’m scared of what you can do.”

She lapses into silence.

Jaune takes a deep breath. The silence hurts, but the way Pyrrha clutches her knees and rocks to and fro hurts even more.

“Man, honesty hurts.”

The champion doesn’t answer.

“Please don’t say you’re sorry,” he says, putting a hand on her back. She is solid beneath his fingers, not the flaming wraith. “I… I’m not sorry that I… well… I love you. I’ve never felt this way, but if this is love… it’s pretty damn good.”

 

She uncurls, like a morning glory greeting the sun. 

“I never thought I’d hurt the one I loved like this.”

“I never thought I’d really have a shot at becoming a Huntsman.” He shrugs. “But you made it possible.”

Pyrrha tucks a coil of hair behind her ear. “My father once told me that as beings of great potential, we are capable of just as much harm as good.”

Her hand hovers over his thigh, and she gives him a questioning look. Jaune nods, though the thought makes him a tiny bit queasy. He wants this touch, solid and forgiving, to know that they are not the sum of the disaster they left behind. He wants to know that he is the potential for something greater, be it a relationship with Pyrrha or a hero of Remnant.

“Jaune… if after all this, if you’re still willing to give me a chance…?”

 _What if I don’t love her in five months time? What if this is all a phase?_ He asks himself. And then, _if this is love, it keeps on hurting and yet I still want more…_

He has been a boy of bluster for most of his life, boasting about achievements he has never accomplished. His entrance to Beacon was based on lies. Something tells him that mere words cannot carry them, if this relationship is to succeed. And he does want this to succeed. There is something about the scarlet-haired warrior who could set him aflame that he’d like to see beside him for the rest of his life.

 _That could be really short_ , a niggling voice in his head says.

Jaune takes a deep breath and pushes the thought away. He settles his hands on her hips, then pulls her close. She blushes, the red blooming across her cheeks like an ember landing on dry grass.

“Does… does this answer your question?” Jaune strokes her cheek. It’s warm, like a cup of hot chocolate on a wind-bitten autumn day. “I don’t know, I’ve never really been good with words, I-”

“No, no, this is good. I like this.” She cards his hair with calloused fingers. “This is all so new to me as well.”

He laughs. “Well. We might be broken and burned, but at least we’ve got something in common.”

Pyrrha stares for a second.

 

“Oh, come on. You’re this awesome warrior, and I’m pretty much a cheerleader.”

“Who can lift me over his shoulder and carry me to safety,” she counters. She gasps a little as his hands descend. “No, no, don’t actually try it now! I like this!” 

“W-well, should my hands be this low?” Jaune wets his lips. “This… why do I get the feeling Nora is cheering somewhere?”

Pyrrha laughs. “Yes, she is, and yes please.” She swings a leg over his own and perches on his hips. “Does this make it easier?”

The blood is rushing out of his brain at an alarming rate.

“…I have no idea what to do next,” he admits. “Have any ideas?”

“Not really…” Pyrrha twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “I… well, blogs might say I should pin you down and kiss you, but that seems a bit forward! I… I’m sorry, this–“

Jaune pokes her cheek. “Pyrrha, do I look like I know what I’m doing? I’m sorry for being clueless!”

“This is a mess.” Pyrrha runs her hands through her long scarlet locks, shoulders heaving in soundless laughter. “We’re a mess.”

“Yeah.” Something about the way her cheeks puff out and her eyes light up when she laughs draws Jaune to hook a finger under her chin and draw her closer. Her laughter fades into uneven breaths. “But we’re in this together. Right, partner?”

She kisses him - long and slow, hips straddling his own – and that is answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Clymene is done! I'm sorry, I've fallen behind schedule… I'm doing a Jaune and overestimating my abilities. Next up, if I can actually follow a schedule, is Eos, as Jaune finds more things to love about Pyrrha.

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, this chapter is background heavy, but I don't think what I have planned for chapter 2 and Eos will make sense without it. 
> 
> Excerpt from chapter 2:  
> “They act like it is noble to die, and cowardly to live, and no matter what I do or try I can’t convince them otherwise!” She slams a fist into the tangle of blankets. “They act like I should suffer – that I should die, because I am a champion, and I have nothing more to give other than my death.”


End file.
